The Joker and The Thief
by Madison Dyann
Summary: I made my living as a small time thief for the mob.The pay was good and I wasn't important enough to be bothered by Batman. Still, I wanted out. I wanted out before I got hard time in prison. Before I got killed. But we can't always get what we want.
1. Retirement

My worn shoes made little sound against the sidewalk while men in black suits and ugly ties passed by without looking at me. Women with high heels and styled hair looked me up and down before turning their noses up in disgust. Couples and families quickly changed their path to avoid getting to close to me. Even with all this negativity surrounding me I continued to walk with my head up. I was use to this reaction. The rich a Gotham didn't take well to having a person like me walk proudly through their neighborhood.

A person like me. A person whose worn jeans need to be thrown out. A person with long disheveled hair dyed a dark blonde but with brown roots clearly showing. A person who's only object that held value was the golden ring on her middle finger. A person who walks tall when their world is laying in piles of ruins around them. A person like me.

I wasn't homeless; through my appearance lead many people to believe I was. I had a house I could easily live in instead of sending my days and nights on the streets of Gotham. I had a room in that house. A room with a warm bed, decent clothes, and heat. Yes, I had a house. But it wasn't a home. I only went there when I was in need of good nights sleep. And when that night came around I used the window not the front door.

My father wanted to name me Marie, after his mother. But my mother had demanded that my name be Victoria. So my father made a compromise with her, not the first nor the last one of their marriage. My name became Victoria Marie Bradley. For the first fourteen years of my life I went by Victoria. But when my father died I insisted that people call me Marie. I did it to spite my mother. The two of us never got along. We were two very different people to say the least.

I picked up my pace as I walked away from the center of Gotham. The farther away I got from the heart of the city the dark the streets seemed to get despite the bright sunshine. I stepped off the main street and turned into the alley way next a Chinese restaurant. I stopped when I reached plain metal door that was place on the side of the restaurant. I threw my messy hair up into a bun, adjusted my black jacket, and exhaled deeply before I pushed the door open.

I was greeted by the barrel of gun. The owner was a rather tense-looking young man. His hand gripping the gun was tight and a little sweaty. I merely blinked as a stared at the gun and its owner. He was clearly waiting for me to speech. "I'm here to see Chechen." I said with no emotion.

He loosened his grip on the gun slightly. "You shouldn't be here."

"Well, I am. I'm sure Chechen won't mind." I smiled innocently. The man gave me a thoughtful look before lowering the gun and moving to the side so I could get by. I walked through a metal detector, which remained silent, into the back of the restaurant. Only it wasn't a restaurant today. Four tables were pushed together to create a square. At the end, sat a large television, which was turned off. On either side of it sat groups of men. But directly in front of the television sat a lone man. He was dressed in a dark purple suit complete with purple shoes. His hair was a dirty green color.

As I walked into the room it went quiet and everyone's eyes fell on me. But I ignored it. I even ignored the man-in-the-purple-suit's large amount of make-up. His entire face was painted to resemble a clown; a murderous demonic clown. I kept my eyes on Chechen as a small pulse of nervousness went down my spine and settled in my fingertips and stomach. "You're not usually this hard to find, Chechen."

He looked the same as he did last time I saw him. Curly and greasy black hair, with rather ugly brown leather jacket on and a cheap cigarette attached to this mouth. "I'm sure this could have waited until other time, Marie." Chechen said with a heavy Spanish accent. His face was clearly annoyed. The other faces were apathetic or tense. The clown's face was indifferent also but it held an underlying curiosity.

"I'm sure it could have, for you at least. But I'd rather not get caught with this in my hands." I said as I pulled a small brown package from my jacket pocket. The package was full of documents; police evidence. Breaking into the Gotham Police Department was probably the toughest and dumbest thing I had ever done. It had been a relatively easy job but I still didn't want to do it again anytime soon. "But before I hand this over, I believe you owe me some money." I said in the sweetest voice possibly. Chechen was known for shooting people instead of paying them.

Chechen gave the smallest of head nods before one of his employees, a man in an out-dated blue suit, crossed the room and handed me a similar brown bag. I pushed into my jacket pocket as he took the documents out of my hand. "Now, get out." Salvador Maroni said in a bored voice. Maroni wore an anxious expression and a suit that was lazily ironed. I figured that was due to his recent court trial. "I will in a minute back I have one more thing to say. I quit." I said calmly.

I caught a small sign of emotion flash across Chechen's face before he said, "What do you mean 'quit'?" I gave an annoyed sigh. "'Quit' as in…I'm retiring. As in I don't want to work for you any more. I don't see how I can make this clearer." Gambol, who was the closest mobster to me, gave me a suspicious look. Gambol and I never got along because he had a huge sense of self-superiority. His voice was harsh and accusatory when he spoke. "Why? Why now?"

"Well, for one, I really don't feel like going to jail for the rest of my life. " I said sarcastically. "But you never get caught. Not even by Batman. How do you it?" Maroni said with a hint of disbelief. "How do I do what? Avoid Batman?" Maroni nodded his head. "I think Batman has bigger fish to fry than a teenage thief. You guys are occupying his time quite nicely. Any more questions?" No one said anything. "Goodbye. I hope to never see any of you again." I said politely before I re-traced my steps back out the side door.


	2. The Job

An hour later, I was fixing a caramel turtle cappuccino with whip cream at Barney's Café on the corner of 52nd and Market Street. I worked at Barney's every Wednesday and Friday from two to nine. My job at the café, which I've held for an impressive six months, was my first step to living an honest life. My quickly approaching 18th birthday was the main reason for 'retiring' from my other job. I knew that if I got caught stealing something after I turned 18 I would spent most of my life in prison, but as a minor, with only a few juvenile charges on my record , I would only get a few months behind bars and a year or two probation. Nothing too serious.

Work at the café wasn't too bad and it was nice to talk to normal people rather than harden criminals that were prone to violence. At Barney's Café the most hostile people I encountered where the ones in expensive suits who were late to work and complained that I was taking to long with their ten dollar coffee. I was cleaning a table in the corner when I felt a soft tap on my shoulder.

A large black man in a tan suit was standing behind me when I turned around. His round head was shaved and the suit had a thin gray pin strip which gave it a darker color. He was two heads taller than me and about twice my size. I recognized him as one of Gambol's goons, but I didn't know his name. I tried to avoid getting on a first name bases with too many of Gotham's criminals. The man didn't waste anytime on greeting me; he got straight to the point. "Gambol has a job for you." His tone was bored and sounded as through he had said those words a thousand times.

"Sorry, but I'm retire-." I started to day before he cut me off. "He's willing to pay more. A lot more." I shook my head. Even through I said I was retired, I knew the mob would just throw more money at me to get me to continue doing their dirty work. I just hadn't expected it to happen so soon. "What's the job?" I said with an annoyed voice. Again in the same monotone he said, "The Joker, the clown at the meeting you so rudely interrupted earlier today, made the mistake of insulting Gambol so he's offering 500,000 dollars for him dead."

My sudden anger made blood rush to my face. "How many times to I have to tell you people? I do not kill people. Find some one else." I said all this though gritted teeth to keep from yelling it out for the entire café to hear. I had told them from the very beginning that I wouldn't kill people. Not only was it wrong but it also went against my whole no-serious-charges plan. I doubted that I was even capable of killing another human being. I wasn't that type of person. The man in the suit kept this flat face but there was annoyance in his voice when he spoke again. "Or a million if you get him alive."

I opened my mouth to speak but closed it when I understood what he had said. A million dollars? This Joker guy must have really pissed Gambol off. I thought about it. I could do a lot with a million dollars; leave Gotham City, go to college, start over. I could even do that with $500,000. But how would I do it? I couldn't possibly pull it off alone; without help. And that's how I worked; alone. I didn't even have the means to kill him. I owned no gun. The only weapon I had, if you want to call it a weapon, was a small Swiss Army knife that was once my father's. The blade was still sharp but I doubted that I could kill anyone with it, even if I wanted it. And what about this Joker guy? Someone who walks around with demonic clown makeup on probably wasn't that most sane person out there. After thinking about it for a few seconds I finally answered. "I'm retired." I returned to work as the man walk out without protesting.

My mother worked nights at the local power company on the other side of town. She went in at 8 and came home around 5 or 6 in the morning. So she wasn't home when I climbed in through my bedroom window on the back side of the house. My room wasn't anything special; just a dresser, a bed and a small out of date television. When I first started coming in through the window I wasn't very graceful. I would fall on my head or land on my knee so that it was bruised for an entire month. Now, I could get in without injuring myself. Opening the white refrigerator door was the first thing I did. My mother didn't cook. She saw cooking as being below her so fridge didn't hold anything of great value. I grabbed a Coke and popped some left over pizza into the microwave. Thirty seconds later I was eating a slice of greasy pepperoni pizza.

When I was finished and after I cleaned up my mess I walked into the bathroom. Before my mother met my father she was a hair stylist in a fancy salon on the north side of Gotham. She was very ADD with her hair; she would re-style it every month or two. I had apparently inherited the unusual trait. She always kept hair dye in the house and my hair needed to be dyed again. Under the sink the only color I found was 'midnight black'. I didn't like the thought of coloring my hair black; it seemed too much of a stereotypical teenage thing to do. But the color would look better than the outgrown blond highlights that I currently had. Two hours later, after I dyed and trimmed my hair, took a shower, and put on a clean pair of clothes, I was climbing back out my bed window.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me as I darted off the street and into a dark alley way. I wish I would have stayed on the street.


	3. ReHiring

The alley was only about a hundred meter long and the only light came from a small street light at the end. I always took the narrow alley on my way to and from my house; it was much faster than walking up to the end of the block. The alley wasn't scary. It was just a regular alleyway; narrow, dim, short. The alley itself wasn't scary; the figures standing at the end made it scary.

About halfway into the alley I looked up at the exit, which was laminated in the glow of a flickering street light. Standing in the yellow light were two people; I assumed they were men. I couldn't make up any defining feature; they were just black images of people. I stopped walking; never taking my eyes off the end of the alley. The air was quiet; the only sound was the distant hum of cars. Then another sound cut through the silence; footsteps. The sound wasn't coming from the men in front of me, for they weren't moving, but the sound was coming from the mouth of alley; from behind me. I slowly turned positioned myself so my back faced the wall and so I could see my both ends of the alley. At the mouth of alley two more figures appeared.

But instead of stopping, they walked slowly farther into the alley as did the other pair. My entire body was frozen. I'd been in fights before but all of them had in been in high school so they were broken up before anyone got seriously hurt and never four against one. I assumed they were muggers; I hoped they were mugger and not something more. The only thing I had the held any value, besides the wrinkled up one dollar bills in my back pocket, was my dad's golden wedding ring which I wore on my right hand. Nothing that would excite a mugger. I started to run through my defensive options. Screaming; there was no one around to hear me. Fighting; the odds were against me. This made me remember my knife, which was unfortunately located in the pocket of my dirty jeans which were thrown on my bedroom floor. Running; it was an option with a small chance of success.

I saw the chance of success because the newest pair weren't inline like the others. The first one was about a foot from the left side of alley about five feet in front of his partner who walked along the right side. If I could get past the first I was home free, assume the second was too athletic. About five seconds pasted as I thought all this through. The pair moving in from the exit was much closer to me than the others, so I turned to face them and started backing away, towards the other group. With each step they took towards me, I took two back. I could hear the footsteps behind me getting louder. When I could hear their breathing behind me, I stopped but not for long. At the same time as I turned around, I swung my right arm, with my hand balled into a fist, up behind me. My fist collided with the man's nose. I didn't stick around to see if I broke it. I darted around him and ran for the street. I almost made it too.

I was a foot or two away from the mouth of the alley and freedom when an arm wrapped around my waist and a gloved hand clamped down over my mouth. That was when the fear set in. I kicked and clawed at the arm that was pulling me back into the darkness of the alley. I bit the hand that covered my mouth. The taste of leather filled my mouth as I was dropped. My head bounced heavily off the ground and blackness crept into the corners of my vision. I prayed for the blackness to engulf me and that when I woke up this whole ordeal would be over with. But instead it faded away and the pain in my head intensified. Suddenly I was picked up roughly by my arm and pinned against the wall of the alley. Even through I couldn't feel it I was sure the man's hand would leave a bruise. The owner of the hand stared back at me with his demonic clown makeup covered face.

"Well, hello." The Joker said in a sarcastic yet terrifying tone. His dark eyes seemed to penetrate my very soul as smiled down at me. Fear ran down my spine and settled in my hands and feet. But it was soon replaced my adrenaline. "Can I help you?" I said, blood rushing to my head. I saw the other three men standing behind the Joker not exactly paying attention. One was nursing a bleeding nose. The Joker shifted his weight onto the other and appeared to seriously consider my question. "Word on the street is you've been hired to kill me." His words were even but I could sense a building anger underneath.

Jesus Christ, I'm dead. "Yea. Gambol asked but do you thing I'm stupid enough to have said 'yes'. "I figured telling the truth was my best option at this point. The Joker let go of me and smiled comical yet sadistic smile that sent shimmers down my spine. "In that case, I'd like to hire your services." He said in a mock professional voice. This wasn't going to be good.


	4. Changing My Mind

An hour later I parked a simple black car in Gambol's drive way. As I popped the trunk, two of Gambol's-suit-wearing henchmen walked up. One of them was the man that had approached me earlier that day. I wasn't the only one who got of the car; the three men who corner me in ally also got out and stood by my side. I had yet to learn their names. "What are you doing here, Bradley?" The man on the right side said while adjusting his suit jacket. I remained calm as the Joker's men walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk. "Let's just say 'I changed my mind'." I said as the men pulled a dead body wrapped in trash bags from the trunk.

Gambol's men asked no more questions as they lead us into the expensive house. We walked though varies rooms before we entered a large game room equipped with a bar and two pool tables. "Gambol, Bradley's here. She said she just killed the Joker." said one of Gambol's henchmen. Gambol, dressed in a similar suit, turned away from his game of pool and moved to allow my 'partners' to place the body on the table. I didn't venture far into the room; I leaned against the large open door.

"So what made you change your mind, Marie? I thought you didn't kill people?" Gambol said with a smile playing on his lips. I shifted my weight from my left leg to my right. "I didn't kill him. They did." I said motioning towards the others. "Nice hair." He said before he turned to the body and pulled the bag off of the Joker's face. "Dead. That's 500." He started to move around the table. Many things happened at the same time. The seemingly Joker rose from the table, pushed away Gambol's men before placing a knife to a stunned Gambol. The Joker's men pushed the others to their knees while holding guns to their heads. I witnessed all this from the safety of the doorway.

"How about alive?" The Joker said in the same malice-filled voice. Then proceeded to tell Gambol how he got the scars on his face which were now battered in make-up. I blocked the story out in order for me to focus on making a plan. I had to think of so way to get myself out of this whole I had fallen into. But I lost focus when I saw Gambol's limp body fall to the floor with a loud thud. The Joker calmly pulled the black trash bags off and threw them gently to the floor where they partially covered Gambol's bloody body.

"Now, our operation is small, but there's a lot of potential for "aggressive" expansion." The Joker said walking around the table. There was a hint of happiness and amusement in his voice. "So, which one of you fine gentlemen would like to join our team? Oh, there's only one spot open right now, so we're gonna have..." He took a pool cue from its place on the wall and snapped it loudly over his knee. "…tryouts." He tossed the a one half of the broken cue down in front of Gambol's helpless thugs before walking in my direction and the exit's.

In one simple quick motion the Joker put his arm around my shoulders in an adoring way and pulled me with him. My discomfort level skyrocketed in less than a second. I silently walked with him while my heart rated seemed to increase to a dangerous level. I'd been in scary and dangerous situations before; Hell, I spent the majority of my recent life in one, but this current situation, this…_man_ scared me more than anything else I'd ever experienced. The deafening silence between was too great so I broke it. "What do you want?" I managed to keep my voice from shaking.

He stopped walking when we reached the entry way. He removed his arm and turned to look at me; a wide grin was plastered on his face. "What do I want?" He paused and appeared to really think about his answer. "I want your help." The Joker said a sweet voice. "Help with what?" I questioned; curious as to why. "I need your help to kill Batman of course. Now, I now you don't kill people but I really need your expertise here." He took a few steps closer; making me uncomfortable again. "And if I say 'no'?" I decided to explore my options. He swiftly pulled a small knife from his jacket pocket and held it gently to my cheek. A shiver of fear crawled down my back. "Let's just say it would be pretty." The Joker said with a smile before erupting into a fit of laughter. I had no choice. I had to help this madman in is insane quest to kill Batman and hope The Joker didn't kill me in the process.


	5. Bad Day

I stood in the kitchen as the Joker and his men dealt with the numerous bodies that lay in the game room. I was slightly surprised by this; I didn't picture the Joker as a man that cleaned up after himself. The Joker had assigned one of his men to stay in the kitchen with me. Kevin, my jailer, was the same man whose nose I had bloodied a few hours before. His face was blood free but his nose was swollen and the area beneath his eyes had become a light purple color. He was young, maybe 25, and dressed in an uninteresting pair of dark jean, a blue tee shirt and a black hoodie jacket. His hair was a sandy blonde color and was cut short. His brown eyes looked much darker due to his bruised face.

I sat atop the granite counter top as Kevin leaned against the wall on the other side of the room. We spent the passed twenty minutes in silence which was quiet alright with me; I wasn't in the mood to talk about my day. Another slow minute passed before I hopped quickly off the counter. As I did so, Kevin straightened up and gave a suspicious look but didn't say anything. His reaction didn't surprise me. "I need to restroom. I'm allowed to use the restroom, aren't I?" I said the last part when a sarcastic tone. I didn't wait for any sign of approval before I walked out of the kitchen and into a long hallway. Kevin followed me to the exit of the kitchen but not into the hallway. I walked pass many expensive portraits and sculptures. When I came to the first door on the right, I slowly opened the door.

I was now peering into an elegant yet boring guest bedroom. I didn't waste time admiring the furniture; I marched across the white carpet to the bathroom which was located at the end of the room next to a much too large closet. I locked the door swiftly behind me. I scanned the room quickly. The window was placed next to the toilet. Before throwing it open I turned one of the knobs on the sink and water poured out into the glass basin. The window was of average size; more than enough space for me to fit though. I quietly kicked the metal screen out before climbing out the window. I then awkwardly shut the window and walked along the ivy-ridden fence till I reached the empty sidewalk.

I ran as fast as I could for as long as I could. I tried to avoid the main roads while trying to get as far away from the Joker as possible. I didn't dare go back to my mother's home. I wasn't sure how long or how far I ran when I finally collapsed over in the doorway of some apartment building. I sat down on the cold stone steps waiting for my breathing to return to normal. I was still there when it started to rain; slowly at first but it began to pick up as the minutes went by. The doorway allowed some shelter from the cold rain but only a little. I wasn't sure how long I had sat there, watching the rain accumulate into a puddle in the middle of the empty street, before I fell asleep.

I awoke to being hit in the head with something. I opened my eyes to find a little old lady, who was wearing a quite ugly floral dress, hitting me in the head with a rolled up newspaper. I wasn't awake enough to stand so I rolled away from her and today's Gotham Times stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. "Jesus, lady. What's your problem?" I said, slurring my words. "You're my problem. If I see you sleeping in my doorway again I'll call the police. You understand me? We don't need people like you around here. This is a good neighborhood and I intend to keep it that way. Now leave!" She yelled at me as she threateningly waved her newspaper. I watched from my seat on the sidewalk as the lady slowly made her walk back inside.

Night had turned to day and the rain had stopped but the street and I were still drenched. I climbed to my feet while trying to ignore the aching pain in my back. I exhaled heavily before walking down the sidewalk in no particular direction. I walked until the majority of my clothes were dry before I went the nicest cafe and brought the cheapest coffee and a small blueberry muffin. I sat down at a small table and thought about what I should do next. I thought about taking the money from my last job and just skipping town but ten thousand dollars wouldn't get me very far for very long. I need more money, which was the story of my life. I left the cafe and resumed my wondering.

I was in the center of Gotham City when a police car pulled up along side of me and parked. Instant dread filled my stomach. I stood and watched as Lieutenant Jim Gordon causally stepped out the car and walked over to me. "Can I help you, Lieutenant?" I said politely, though I knew I was completely screwed. "I sure hope you can, Bradley. I need you to come will me." Gordon said kindly while pulling a pair of silver handcuffs from his pocket. "Can we forgo the handcuffs? I'm not going to do anything." I asked. "Sorry. Protocol." He apologized as I stood still as he cuffed my hands behind my back and placed me in the backseat of the police cruiser. I was having a really bad day.


	6. Interrogation

The police station was busy as usual. Paper work covered numerous desks and the constant sound of ringing telephones echoed against the walls. Gordon led me through the Major Crime Unit but instead of putting in the holding cells he pulled me directly into the interrogating room. Gordon exited as soon as he unlocked the handcuffs from my sore wrists. Once I was alone in the room, I slowly sat down in the uncomfortable metal chair and laid my head down on the table. I was asleep within ten minutes of being in the room.

I woke up and lifted my head with break neck speed when a hand pounded on the table. I rubbed my eyes as they focused on the person who was seated directly in front of me. Harvey Dent was dressed in his usual gray suit and bland red tie. His presence and the serious look on his face told me I wasn't being booked for breaking curfew. Dent's attitude made me feel small and unimportant. "Victoria Bradley -" "Marie!" I said cutting him off but he didn't seem to care. "Do you know who I am?" I rolled my eyes. "No, who are you? The Easter Bunny?" I joked. I normally didn't mess with law enforcement officials but normally I was talking to Gordon, who I respected. Dent just irritated me.

"Ms. Bradley, do you know why we arrested you?" His tone was unaffected by my joke. "J-walking? Loitering? Did I forget to pay my taxes?" I said sarcastically. Still Dent appeared un-phased by my un-cooperation. "We have evidence that you broke into this very office Friday night. We lifted your finger off of a handle on a filing cabinet." Lie. I thought to myself. They had no evidence against me. I wore leather gloves, a mask and made sure to cut the power to the security cameras. They were bluffing; though I was curious as to way they brought me in with no evidence. "Sorry, Mr. Dent, but I don't believe you. If you want me to confess you need to lie better than that. I thought you were a lawyer." I shook my head in mock disappointment.

The heavy metal door buzzed before it opened and Gordon walked in. "I told you she was smarter than that." There was almost a sense of pride in his voice. Gordon took a seat next to Dent and laid a rather thick vanilla colored file on the table. "Oh, Marie. What are we going to do with you?" Gordon said as he flipped the file open. My latest mug shoot was clipped on top of numerous papers. The picture was taken about six months before when my hair was a boring shade of brown. "Do you remember what your first offense was?" Gordon asked as if he was a teacher giving a pop quiz. I lied. "No."

"You stole Bruce Wayne's Lamborghini." Gordon said; shocked that I didn't remember. "Yea, I would have gotten away with if it wasn't for his damn tail light." I mumbled to myself. The left tail light in a million dollar car went out while I was driving it around and some bored cop decided to pull me over. "Mr. Wayne was kind enough not to pressure charges. But you weren't so lucky in your later..... adventures." Gordon said flipping through the file. "Breaking and entering, trespassing, grand theft auto, robbery, battery, battery with a deadly weapon-" "Hey, I only pistol-whipped that guy." I cut in.

"That's not the point. The point is that you have quite a wrap sheet; most of them felonies." Dent said; clearly annoyed. "But we are willing to make all that disappear. But only if you help us." Dent's words caught my attention. "Help you do what?" I figured it would be to testify against Sal Maroni and the other mob bosses; something I was willing to do if it cleared my history. "We need your help catching the Joker." I opened my mouth to protest but Dent kept talking. "You wouldn't have to doing anything. No wearing a wire or anything like that. We heard that he tried to hire you. You just have to take the job and once we catch the Joker and put him on trial we'll need you to testify. That's it."

"That's it? You say like it's a piece of cake. What if I piss him off, which doesn't seem hard to do and he kills me? I'd rather spend my time in jail than die." I blurted out. Gordon ran a hand though his graying hair before speaking. "Marie, I promised your father I wouldn't let anything happen to you. Now, I know I haven't been good on my word lately but I will continue to keep my promise as best I can. We can really use your help here, kid." A few tense seconds passed as the three of us sat in silence. I sighed. "Fine. I'll do it."


	7. Matthew Bingham

After signing the appropriate documents, which basically made it impossible for me to back out, I was allowed to leave the MCU. By that time it was well pass noon. I was unsure of where I could find the Joker so I wondered around for an hour before deciding to head back to my mother's house to take a much needed shower. No one was home, as usual, so I let myself in though the window and went directly to the bathroom. I couldn't hear over the running water; I was oblivious to the uncommon sound of creaking floor broads. I stepped out of the shower changed into a clean set of clothes. With a loud click, I unlocked the bathroom door and opened it. I was two steps into the hallway when a familiar gloved hand covered my mouth. I didn't have time to react as the Joker pushed me roughly up against the wall and placed a much too familiar knife to my cheek. The layers of make-up made it impossible for me to read his expression but something told me, probably the knife, that he wasn't too happy.

"Hi." I squeaked when he didn't immediately say anything. Instead, he added more pressure to the knife against my cheek and said "Where have you been?" The metal knife was cold against my still wet face. "Uh, I had to take care of something." The Joker applied more pressure and I could feel the knife break the skin. "Okay, I got arrested!" The knife stopped. I felt a thin line of blood start to travel down my cheek. He waited for me to go on. "Dent said he would clear my criminal history if I would testify against Maroni." The Joker considered me for a moment. "And what did you say?" "You think I'm an idiot? Of course I said 'no'." Only then did he back up and let me breathe. My heart rate finally returned to a normal setting.

But it picked up again when the Joker grabbed me roughly by the arm and started to pull me though the house. We went out the front door and down the concrete steps and onto the empty sidewalk. It was an awkward sight to see the Joker in the sunlight; it didn't fit. His grip never loosen as we walked to the small black car I had drove to Gambol's the previous night, which was parked neatly on the side of the street. If it was there when I arrived I didn't notice it. He pushed me into the passenger seat before he slammed the door and went to the driver's side.

As he drove I tried not to move; I wanted to sink into the leather interior and disappear. He drove the speed limit but he still ran a few stop signs and made some illegal lane changes. I wanted so much to put my seat belt on but the motions would go against my survival instincts. "Where are we going?" I muttered, not sure if could hear me. "We're going to visit someone." I grew more confused when he circled City Hall and parked the car in the alley behind the building. Gotham's City Hall wasn't built of limestone and adorned with large Greek columns like your usual City Halls. Instead it was a large skyscraper. It was the second largest building in Gotham behind Wayne Tower. The sun reflected in building's thousands of glass windows.

I decided to spare myself the abuse and get out of the car with the Joker's 'help'. I followed him to the back of the car where he unlocked the trunk. An awful smell reached my nose which almost made me turn away. I cautiously peered into the trunk but only turn quickly away again. I wondered how long the dead guy had been in trunk. The only thing more disturbing than the smell was the dead guy's at-tire. He was wearing what appeared to be black hockey padding, a five dollar plastic cape that he prob-ably got from a party store around Halloween and a black mask with pointed bat ears. His face was painted in a lot more messier version of the Joker's makeup. When I noticed the blood around the lips did I see the jagged cuts what found the bright red smile.

I watched as he grabbed a long brown rope, which was hidden beneath the dead guy. The Joker pushed it into my arms. The coarse threads rubbed against my skin causing it to burn. He then handed me a small key card. It was a blue three inch rectangle with a black bar code type thing running the length of it. On the front, above the name MATTHEW BINGHAM were four word typed in elegant but legible print. GOTHAM CITY GOVERNMENT BUILING took up most on the room on the card. "Who's Matthew Bingham and where did you get this card?" I asked. "Mr. Bingham was a simple janitor for this great city but now…… he's probably in a body bag in the morgue. It took that off of him right be-fore I slit his throat." The Joker recited it like it was bed time story. "Now open the door before I have to kill you too." I ran to the iron door as the Joker lifted the dead body out of the trunk and over his shoulders. The way he did it you would have thought he was lifted a sack of potatoes.

With the rope in hand and the key in the other I swiped the card through the lock. A quick second passed before the unlocked. I held it open for the Joker and his luggage. Inside to our left a stairway and to the right was a single gray metal elevator. Directly in front of us was along hallway and several other doors. "The elevator." The Joker said, still showing signs that he was carrying what was probably a 300 pound man over his shoulder. I had to swipe the card again to call the elevator. Twenty seconds passed before the elevator door dinged open. The Joker went first again and with his free hand pressed the very top button which was labeled ROOF.


	8. Abuse

It was by far the strangest elevator ride I've ever taken. The only sound was the hum of the elevator as I stood against the wall; as far away as possible from the Joker and the dead man. It took us a full minute and a half before we reached the roof. The entire time I was wondering what would happen if another janitor needed to use the elevator; then I noticed the gun that had appeared in the Joker's free hand. I prayed the other janitors didn't need to use it.

The elevators doors opened into a small structure which held nothing of interest besides the heavy metal door opposite the elevator which had the words ROOF ACCESS painted neatly across it. I politely held the door open for the Joker but before I closed it I shoved a rock in between the door and the wall so it wouldn't shut all the way. The strong wind caused my already disheveled hair to blow into my face. Once I got the hair out of my eyes, I noticed the Joker was already at the eastern edge of the roof; so I stumbled my way over to him, trying not to trip on the rope.

When I reached him, the body was laying haphazardly on the ground and the Joker was leaning over the edge, staring down with a cynical smile on his face. I threw the heavy rope down next to the body. "Uh, why are we throwing a dead body off the top of City Hall?" I asked. I could fill the sun's rays on my back. The heat and the wind made me uncomfortable. I was assuming the Joker would take it as a rhetorical question but I was wrong, as usual. The next thing I knew, my feet were not longer on the ground. The Joker grabbed me around the neck and lifted me so my head was dangling in the open air and my feet kicked desperately in an attempt to reach the ground again but the only thing they hit was the concrete edge. Forty-one stories below, the mid-day traffic zoomed by with no knowledge that I was about to become a blood stain on the sidewalk.

"Would you prefer it if I threw a living person off the top of City Hall?" I shook my head as much so I could. "Are you going to keep asking questions?" I attempted to shake my head again. "Ever?" I shook it more violently this time. "I'll shut up, just put me down!" I yelled but most of the volume was lost in the wind. I was almost in tears when I felt my body hit the rocks on the roof. I stood off to the side, trying to control the physical symptoms of my recent near-death experience, while the Joker prepared the rope. I watched as he tied the end off on some near-by metal pipe and he tied a noose on the other end. It didn't take much self-control for me to keep my mouth shut; but I still saw no point in him bringing me along on his little adventure to a roof in the center Gotham City. Then I watched, somewhat in horror, as the Joker placed the noose around the dead guy's neck, then pick him up and lightly throw the body over the edge. He peered over the edge for a few seconds with a wide red smile plastered on his face before he grabbed my hand roughly and pulled me towards the exit.

The elevator ride down was just as quite as the ride up but the tension was much stronger. I was unable to hug the wall because the Joker insisted on holding my hand the entire time. When the doors dinged open, he almost pulled my arm out of the socket. After we exited City Hall and walked into the same alley, the Joker dropped my hand and tossed a set of key into the air, which I caught out of instinct. "You're driving." He said as he made his way around the car to the passenger seat. I was completely confused but I didn't voice my concerns; at least I would have a little control in the situation. I put the black car in gear and drove safely out the alley and into the busy street. It had only been three minutes since the Joker hung the body but I could hear police sirens in the distance. I drove south; away from City Hall and the approaching sirens.

About ten minutes passed until the Joker gave me directions for where to go. A 'left here' or a 'right there', nothing too illustrated. After driving in what seemed like circles for half an hour I drove the car into what the average Gotham citizen would consider a bad neighbor at the Joker's request. I was certain we were going rob or kill someone again when he told me to pull into the driveway, where a large white van was parked halfway in the yard. The house was sandwiched between two warehouses, all appeared to have been abandoned for a while. The gray exterior paint was chipping and the majority of the house covered by large overgrown pine trees. I parked the car the small garage, which opened the second I was in the driveway. The inside of the garage looked much like the outside; run down.

I silently got out of the car and I would have preferred to stay a safe distance behind the Joker as we walked into the house, but as he walk towards the door he took my upper arm in a rough grip and dragged me alone beside him. The first thing I noticed was the smell. There was no way the house would be deemed liveable; the smell of mold was so strong it gagged me. As I was being dragged I could bits of green stuff growing in the cracks of the concrete floor and on the lower half of the way. I saw the vague outline of a person close the garage door as we walked farther into the house. When we finally came to a stop, I was almost in tears. Along with the pain of the Joker's grip on my arm, his haphazard dragging of me had caused many of my limbs to come in contact with wall. I was pretty sure I had three broken toes and a few more bruises to go along with the ones I managed to acquire over the passed few days.

Our journey came to an end when I thrown into a Lazy Boy recliner. I wouldn't have minded if there wasn't someone already in the chair. My head hit his and I felt my ring finger crack as it was bent in an awkward position when I threw my hands out to catch myself. I rolled back and fell in the floor and just laid there with my eyes close. As I laid there I could feel my finger start to swell, so without opening my eyes I moved the ring from the finger to another. I could few multiple voices mixed in with the familiar voice of Scott England, of GCN, which was playing on the raggedy television set which was placed about ten feet about from my head.

"Uh...Are you okay?" I knew the voice was coming from the recliner. From my very brief encounter with him I guess he was about 25, maybe 26, and something told it was same guy who's nose I broke. "I'm fantastic. How are you?" I was completely beyond being polite. I heard the man give a quick soft laugh before saying, "I'm great but if I was you I wouldn't lay in that floor. I spent about an hour killing cockroaches yesterday." I jumped onto the nearby couch as fast as my injured body would allow me. I quickly swept my body for bugs for violently clawing my fingers though my ratted hair. The man let out another laugh before announcing, "I was just joking, kid. No need to freak out." As I stared as him, he flashed me a innocent smile before laughing again. His laughing seemed to be a nervous twitch for him. "Pay back for the nose." He muttered as he turned is attention back the television.

The news was video of man dressed as Batman but with a big red smile painted across his face. When the heard the Joker's come through the speakers of the television, I turned away and paid my attention to the ugly design on the couch. It was obviously older than me. My awful mental comments about the couch were cut short when a pile of clothes appeared in the seat next to me. "Change into theses." The Joker demanded from his place behind me. I suppressed the need to ask why.

*Author's Note*

Sorry it took so long.

Thanks for reading!

-Madison Dyann-


	9. Party

I examined the clothes once I closed the bedroom door safely behind me. The room was small and practically empty. The only piece of furniture was a small bland bed. The clothes were a bit more interesting. It didn't take me long to notice that they were from my own closet. Even though I'd hadn't wore the dark pair of jeans in over two years they were slightly looser than they were indented to be. I guessed that was due to my lack of eating. The next piece of clothing was a dark violet tank top that I remembered wearing to class pictures my freshmen year. A few small rhinestones were sworn into the fabric in random places. It was originally my mother's but she didn't like it so I took it. I put on the thin black jacket and black shoes without really looking at them. When I was done I took a look at my reflection in the sliding mirrors which doubled as doors to the closet. The left panel had a thin crack in it which ran the length of the mirror. To put it nicely I looked like a homicide victim prepared to be cremated.

My hair was disheveled which wasn't anything new to me. My days old mascara and eyeliner were smeared giving me the sad raccoon eyes. I did my best wipe off the stray lines but I still looked like a prostitute. My neck was the worst part. The bottom half of my neck was completely covered in bruises; a temporary imprint of the Joker's hand. The bruises on the side, by my shoulders, had a red coloration to them while the ones closer to the front had the traditional blue and purple mixture. Up by my chin was an inch long cut, which was surrounded my dried blood. I used the sleeve on my jacket to wipe the blood off which made the cut look less serious. And from the arching in my arms I knew if I was to inspect my limbs they would also be covered in bruises and cuts. I used my fingers to brush my hair out as much as possible before exiting the room.

I walked into the living room to find everyone standing in the middle of the room. The appeared to be waiting from me. There were six guys, counting Kevin, and most were wearing a mask of some kind. The Joker was leaning casually against the wall twirling a knife in his hands. He looked up when I closed the door to the bedroom. "Let's go." The Joker announced with the familiar amusement in his voice. This time the Joker practically ignored me as I followed the men outside and into the van that was parked in the yard. I was happy about the lack of attention. I sat next some man in a clown mask since Kevin took his mask off and got in the driver seat. The Joker rode shotgun. As we drove through the now dark Gotham I noticed that everyone had a gun, or two, besides me. "Where are we going?" I whispered to the man next to me. I couldn't see his face or his reaction to my question but I did hear his answer. "To kill people." That didn't really answer my question.

I sat in silence as we drove. I tried my best to keep my mind blank and away from the thousands of ways this situation could go bad. The van came to a sudden stop outside a large apartment building. It must have been an odd sight; six guys wearing mismatched masks, the Joker in all his glory and a battered teenager girl running into what I noticed to be the home of Bruce Wayne's penthouse. The decorative lobby was empty except for an old security guard sitting at the his post and a older man I recognized to be Detective Wortts walking towards the elevator. I didn't have the best view from the back of the group so I didn't see who hit the guard across the head but I did see the Joker put his shotgun to the back of the cop's head as the elevator door dinged open.

Everyone followed the Joker and his hostage into the elevator. I, however, didn't enter the elevator; I stayed on the safe side. "It looks a bit crowded in there. I'll just take the next." I said quickly while taking a small step back from the elevator full of murdering lunatics. But when the Joker redirected his gun I changed my direction. "Okay, okay." I timidly stepped next to the Joker and his hostage while trying to keep out of the arm's reach. The classical elevator music and the clown masks made this one much weirder than my previous elevator ride at City Hall. If I didn't die before I fulfilled my contract with the police I was sure I would have permanent heart damage from stress. Everything was happening too fast; I didn't have time to process the situation. All knew was that I need to get away from the murdering clowns and catch the first bus leaving town.

As we neared the top floor everyone started to load their weapons and I began to press myself to the side of the elevator intending not to get off. I hoped I would be forgotten when the door dinged open again and the action started. I hoped I would be left unnoticed in the elevator and free to take it back down. But I was never to be that lucky. When the elevator doors opened and the Joker and the rest of his men ran off the elevator I thought I was home free but I didn't expect a goon in a clown mask to pull me off the elevator with so much force I almost fell. The loud blast from the Joker's shotgun into the high ceiling silenced the party-goers except for a few cries from a few women in dresses that probably cost more than my mom's house.

"Hello ladies and gentlemen. We are tonight's entertainment." A waiter somewhere in the crowd drop their tray and the sound of it crashing to the floor echoed throughout the otherwise silent room. I took my place behind a table of food. When I saw the food I realized how hungry I was for I hadn't ate in almost two days. I couldn't resist grabbing a handful of grapes off the silver tray. During my lunch break the Joker was still talking. "I only have one question. Where is Harvey Dent?" I walked though the crowd while throwing a purple grape in my mouth, trying to stay out of the Joker's line of sight. I stopped at the end of the crowd and step forward a bit so it didn't look like I was hiding. The entire time I was looking for an escape route so I wasn't listening to the Joker terrorize the party guest. I had no clue what the Joker wanted with Harvey Dent but I could only imagine.

I started listening when an old man in a black suit had the nerves to answer the Joker. "We're not intimidated my thugs." The Joker looked at him for a second. "You know, you remind me of my father." The old man appeared repulsed at the statement but the Joker had more to add. "And I hated my father." And then the man had a knife to his face and I was sure the man was dead but another voice entered the conversation and took the Joker by surprise. "Okay. Stop." I recognized the voice and the owner from my many visits to the MCU. Rachel Dawes stepped out of the crowd and in to the clear walkway. I immediately felt sorry for her because I saw the seriousness in the Joker's face dissolve and be replaced with amusement.

"You must be Harvey's squeeze. And you are beautiful, aren't you?" The Joker approached Dawes the way a predator stalks their prey. It was almost frightening to watch but Dawes kept her place. "More beautiful than Bradley anyways." I was stunned at being brought in the conversation in such a way that the only thing I could say was, "Thanks." I probably should have kept my mouth shut and kept the crowd's attention on the Joker. "But I can fix that." In one quick smooth motion the Joker pulled a handgun from his pocket. At first I thought he was going to shoot Dawes but then he pointed the gun in my direction and pulled the trigger.

Either the Joker had great aim or really bad aim for the bullet hit my left arm, about six inches below the shoulder. "What the hell?" I cried as I collapsed to the floor. Blood was already gushing from the wound. "You look better covered in blood." The Joker said before returning his attention to Rachel Dawes and leaving me there on the floor in agony. The pain shifted from a sharp stabbing to a cold arching. I cradled my arm and put as much pressure on the wound as possible to try and stop the bleeding. I wasn't a big blood person; I could already fill my head getting dizzy so I took my attention off my arm. I wasn't sure when Batman came into the picture but I did my best to stay out of everyone's way as I pulled myself up. I knew it was stupid at the time but I felt some what bad for bleeding on Bruce Wayne's floor.


	10. Questions

Either I was losing a lot of blood or my tolerance for blood was less than I imagined because the dizziness in my head was growing and my vision was slowly going to black. I didn't think the wound was fatal; I never heard of anyone dieing from a gunshot to the arm. No, I fainted because looked down at my blood soaked clothes. All that blood was my blood. My last thought before I crumpled to the ground, "These clothes are ruined." Now that I look back at it, dieing there wouldn't have that bad. Bleeding to death on Bruce Wayne's floor was certainly much more appealing than being shot in the head and thrown into the river. And I wouldn't have to bother with the Joker and his insane plan to kill Batman.

I wasn't sure how long I laid on the cold floor before someone thought to pick me up nor do I know how long I was out but I knew it was early morning when I woke up because of the pale pink color of the sky I saw through the window. I was still wearing the now blood ridden clothes but my arm, now just arching softly, was bandaged with clean white strips. I laid there in the bed, staring up at the low ceiling of the small room. The house was silent. It wasn't until I sat up that I noticed something was different. I ignored the pain in my left arm as I brought my hands up to my hair, or what was left of it.

My hair. It was gone. I turned to the mirror and looked at my reflection and hoped my mind was playing games on me. It looked like someone, probably the Joker, just took a pair of scissors and cut my ponytail off. That's it. I knew it was just hair but it was my hair, my head. And now, it looked like I let a kindergartener cut my hair. I was about to freak out when I noticed a pair scissors laying on the pillow next to me. I tried my best to make my hair look halfway normal. By the time I was done the floor around me was covered in my black hair and I could have easily been mistaken for a boy. If I had some hairspray or some gel I could have made it look decent but that was out of the question.

"Rubbing ain't gonna make those beautiful locks grow back, toots." I nearly jumped when his voice broke the silence that had engulfed my life. The door was now open and he leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed across his chest. His violet jacket was now gone which made me sightly more comfortable. Less pockets meant less knives. "You can relax. I'm not gonna kill you. At least, not yet anyways." He erupted in an other fit of laugh which caused my comfort level to decrease again. "You're too serious, doll. Either smile or I'll make you a smile." He pulled a small from his left pocket and I instantly gave my best bright smile. The knife disappeared back into his pocket. "Is that so hard? You have cute dimples when you smile." I wondered what his definition of 'cute' was.

The Joker walked the rest of the way into the room and closed the door behind him. The fake smile faded from my face. The open door was my security blanket but now I was in a room alone with the Joker and with him between the door and me. He threw himself down on the bed before he asked, "Why do you fill the need to constantly dye your hair?" It was an odd yet simple question but I was still reluctant to answer it. "Why do you?" I said, sitting down on the floor by the end of the bed. The Joker gave me a look. "Touche, but I asked you first." I thought about lying but I didn't know if it was the safest choice. Even though the truth was a little revealing I wouldn't get shot for it. "I don't like my natural hair color." The Joker pushed himself up by his elbows to look down at me. "Why?" I gave a small sigh. I knew my short answer wouldn't satisfy him. "After my dad died, I got tried of people telling me that I looked like him." He accepted my explanation without commenting.

"What do you want with me?" I dared to ask the question that was bothering me that most. "That's the question isn't it. And I've seen too many Bond movies to know that you never reveal your plan to anyone. But to answer your question without ruining the surprise, I want to set you free." I laughed internally at the James Bond reference but the rest of it confused me. "Set me free from what?" I asked, my heart skipped a small beat. "Sanity is so overrated now-a-days. Madness is the emergency exit. You can just step outside, and close the door on all those dreadful things that happened. You can lock them away... forever."

"How are you going to do that?" I wasn't a psychologist so I wasn't well versed in what caused people to be put in a patted cell. "You'll see because we start right now." The Joker gave his usual fit of laughter before pulling me out of the room with him.


	11. Madness Is Freedom

The house was just as empty as it sounded. "Where is everyone?" I asked still being pulled through the deserted hallways towards the garage. "They're out doing what I told them to do." The car was still in its place but the white van was gone. I opened the passenger door without talking. The Joker put the car in gear and backed out of the short drive way. We were in the car for about five minutes when the Joker announced, "You should put your seat belt on." He then slammed his foot on the brake pedal and my face would have collided with the dash board if I hadn't thrown my arm out to stop my moving body. I gave a look of disbelief to the Joker, who had resumed his normal fit of laughter "Sorry. I didn't see the stop sign." I immediately put my seat belt on.

The thing about Gotham City was you could be the only car on the road and it would still take you forty five minutes to drive from one end of the city to another. Gotham was the largest city in the world; home to 30 million people. That's ten percent of America's total population living in one city. So I wasn't surprised that we drove for thirty minutes before we turned into an older looking parking garage. As we went up level by level I counted maybe fifteen cars and all of them appeared to have been there awhile. When we turned onto the fifth level, I recognized the van parked lazily in a space near the exterior wall. The Joker parked his car next the van and ordered me, in an almost growling voice, to get out of the car with him.

As I climbed out of the car the back doors of the van opened up and four people jumped out; well, two jumped, the other two were dragged out. I recognized the two who weren't bound and gagged as some of the Joker's goons. The captives were both men dressed in some form of security guard wear complete with identification cards clipped to their front shirt pockets. Both had strips of black cloth tied around their heads as blindfolds. The man on the left, blonde and wearing a pale blue mall cop shirt, continued to struggle for freedom while the man on the right with dark hair and a similar shirt only a darker shade seemed unsure of what he should do.

The Joker skipped comically beside me as I walked to a spot in front of the van that was safe from the blonde man's random thrashing. Even before the familiar gun again appeared in the Joker's hand I knew the fate of the two men. I just wasn't what the purpose was. "Let's get this party started." The Joker giggled as he handed the gun in my direction. I just stared at it with what I was sure was a look of utter confusion. _Why was he passing me that thing? I don't know how to use a gun_. The words pressed across my skull so I wasn't surprised if they showed on my face.

"You just pull the trigger, Marie. It doesn't take a genius." He spoke as if to a child. And for once the thought entered my mind._ I am a child._ I didn't know what I was doing. Not just in that moment but of the course of my life. I lied, I cheated, I stole, I constantly broke the law. And what for? To spite my mother because I was upset with the way she did things. But there was a major miscalculation in my plan. My mother didn't give a damn about what I did. She didn't care that I stole Bruce Wayne's car at the age of 15. She didn't care about all the near death experiences I had the pass few days. She was out there living her life the way she wanted, with no influence from me. And here I was, wasting my life away.

My epiphany was cut short when a closed fist, probably the Joker's, collided with my jaw. The blow knocked me to the ground and I was sure it was the pain that caused tears to fill my eyes, not my epiphany. I managed to keep them from falling as I picked myself up. The goons looked on as if this happened on a regular basis; it was starting to become one. I kept my eyes down as I grabbed the gun from the Joker's hand. The comedy in his face was replaced with hatred. The silver gun was heavier than I expected. I looked down at it, tossed it between my hands, feeling each groove and edge of the barrel. I wondered silently to myself if the safety was on or if the thing was even loaded.

The Joker wasn't very patient that day. Instead of taking the time to close his fist he just slapped me across the face, once again breaking my concentration. This time I got a little pissed off. "What the hell do you want me to do?" I snapped. When I looked at the Joker I swore I saw a smile playing on the edge of his scarred mouth. I wasn't sure if that invisible smile should of made me feel better or worse. "I want you to kill those to two men sitting in front of you." His voice was steady; it held none of the violence his actions displayed.

"And why would I do that?" I asked matter of fact. And as I said it, the invisible smile showed itself; it practically stretched from ear to ear. But the smile wasn't a happy or proud smile. It was a smile covered in cynicism and insanity. It was only made worse by the Joker's unique make-up. Almost in a form of compassion, he threw his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into an awkward hug. The familiar sensation of shivers running down my spine was an immediate result of our close physical contact.

He put his head beside mine and whispered softly in my ear. "Because if you don't I'll kill you and then kill them anyways. And I'll go about my day like nothings changed." Another shiver ran down my back. I pulled my head away from his to look the Joker in the eyes and I asked, "Why me?" Personally, I was expecting some long explanation as to why the Joker felt the need to put me through hell. The answer I got wasn't the one I wanted. "Why not you?" I was hoping, a small part of me was at least, that I was apart of an elaborate plan the Joker created that would only work if I pulled the trigger. Not that I just had bad luck. Bad luck is so much less interesting.

I was still dwelling about how unimportant I was as I started thinking out loud, "I've never killed anyone before." The Joker released me from the hug and looked me in the eye as he spoke. "It's not that hard. Just aim the gun, pull the trigger and repeat. Then walk away. Everybody dies. Whether it be now or in fifty years, what does it matter? You can't live your life by other people's rules. You have to free yourself." It was hard not to see the reason in the Joker's words. It was so insane that it made sense.

Just as I started to believe the Joker and his words my mind snapped back to reality and a survival instinct kicked in. It I wanted to keep my life and my sanity I need to play along. I needed to beat the Joker at his own game. I wasn't sure if that was possible but I was going to try. I needed to act like I falling into his smartly placed traps while hopping silently around them and hope I didn't lose my mind along the way. "How?" I asked in the same emotionless tone.

"Madness, my dear. A person needs a little madness, or else they never dare cut the rope and be free. It's the emergency exit. You can just step outside, and close the door on all those dreadful things that happened. You can lock them away, forever." The Joker said with a large amount of pride in his voice. I let my heart beat a few more times before I quietly aimed the gun and quickly pulled the trigger. A loud bang erupted through the silence and the blonde man slummed over on his side. The same happened to the other man a few seconds later following another bang.

As the men started to loaded the bloody bodies back into the van, the Joker removed the gun from my hand which hung limb by my side. He once again placed a comforting arm around my shoulders. "It's as though we were made for each other... Beauty and the Beast. Of course, if anyone else calls you Beast, I'll rip their lungs out." The lonely parking garage was now full of the Joker's hysteric laughter.


	12. Cheers

My arm started to ache, probably from the gunshot wound not the fall I took, as we drove back to the house. The two men kept entering my thoughts even as I tried desperately to lock them out but they kept finding cracks in my defenses. I cradled my head in my hands and I closed my eyes. My mind was almost clear, almost free of the terrible thing I just did when, as usual, the Joker interrupted my flow of concentration. "You okay?" Behind my hands, I rolled my eyes. He was probably just fishing for something else he could use against me.

"My arm. It hurts." I said through gritted teeth. But it wasn't just my arm that hurt; my entire body hurt. My head, my arm, the entire left side of my body. I was bruised and battered, both physically and mentally. At this point, I just wanted the pain to go away. When the Joker parked the car in the garage, I jumped out and ran for the garage door. I'm sure the Joker was confused by my decision to ran in the house and not away from it.

I headed directly to the small bathroom. From the silence, I figured the guys were still disposing of the body. I kicked myself for letting my mind wonder back to them. I rummaged through the medicine cabinet but all I found was a bunch of old, empty bottles. I even looked in the cupboard beneath the sink but it was empty. The Joker appeared in the doorway and looked on as I went through the medicine cabinet to make sure I didn't miss anything. "What in the world are you looking for?" He asked in a teasing voice.

I exhaled slowly. The pain, I was certain it was the physical version not the mental, was becoming almost unbearable. I felt a strong urge to bang my head against the mirror in hope making the pain go away.. "I have a fucking headache. I need an Advil or a Tylenol. Hell, even a fuckin' Midol would suffice." I wasn't a big user of profanity but when those words started to slip out it was hard to stop them.

The Joker seemed a little taken aback by my sudden use of obscene language. "You could have just asked. No need to get all bitchy about it." I followed him out of the bathroom and down the hallway. I stopped at the end of the counter while the Joker continued on to the refrigerator. He opened the white dingy door and produce two beer bottles. He threw one in my direction, which I caught but not without a sharp pain. Maybe this man was insane. I asked for Midol and he gave me alcohol.

"You're not serious, are you?" I asked cautiously. I was a lot of things but I wasn't a drinker. There was probably only one law which I'd never broke; the legal drinking age. I decided it was best not to drink when I spent most of my time in the presence of men I truly didn't know. I found this to be a similar situation.

"Kid, the only medication in this house is in your hand. Take it or leave it." I looked down at the bottle in my hand and then back to the Joker, who was still standing smugly next to the frig. The pain in my head made the decision for me. I walked cautiously to the refrigerator door, opened it, and grabbed another beer to go with the one already in my hand. When I closed the door a small metal bottle opener had appeared in the Joker's hand. "Cheers." He said with a grin.

When I woke up the next morning, I promised myself that I would never drink again. Sure the pain in my torso and limbs were gone but the pain in my head had only seemed to grow. I couldn't remember anything from the previous night but I still had all my clothes on, so I figured that was a good thing. When I looked out the small window I could see the sun rising in the east. According to the round clock hanging on the wall it was 6:35. It was early, much too early for my hangover and I, but I still couldn't go back to sleep.

After a short while of rolling around in the bed, trying to force my body to go back to sleep, I climbed out of the bed, or more like fell out of bed, causing my head to only ache more. I couldn't hear the television nor any movement in the house so I figured everyone was still asleep. I searched the room for ten minutes before I found clean clothes. Again I recognized them to be my own. I quietly opened the door to the bedroom and tiptoed to the bathroom. I made sure the door was locked before taking a shower.


	13. Parade

It was almost liberating to wash the dirt and blood off my body. I changed the bandage on my arm wound while trying not to look at it; I wasn't sure if that was something I wanted to see when my mood was beginning to improve. I got dressed in my clean clothes and I did the best I could with my hair before exiting the bathroom. The house was still quiet and I met no one on my way to the living. After a few minutes of exploring the house I realized I was all alone. The house was empty except for me. When I tried to leave the house though the garage door it was locked and all the windows were locked too.

Instead of breaking out a window, like I probably should have, I settled on the worn down couch and started to flip through channels on the television. Something caught my attention when I changed to channel to GCN; Gotham City News. Mike Engel, in his usual suit and tie, was standing on a sidewalk downtown talking into his microphone as a large number of people, many of them dressed in police uniforms, walked down the street. "With no word from the Batman, even as they mourn Commissioner Loeb, these cops have to be wondering if the Joker will make good on his threat in the obituary column of The Gotham Times to kill the mayor."

I could have thrown up for the way my stomach twisted._Why in the world would the Joker want to kill the mayor? I know he's insane but this appeared to be just another pointless killing. Unless I wasn't seeing the whole picture._ I settled on the fact that I probably wasn't seeing the whole picture when the mayor walked onto the short stage which was built in front of City Hall.

"Commissioner Loeb dedicated his life to law enforcement,"_ And when did Loeb die?,_ I thought to myself. "...and to the protection of his community. I remember when I first took office..." When I noticed Gordon sitting in the rows of people behind the podium, I became a little nervous. The entire time, Gordon was scanning the windows on the adjacent buildings, looking for something or someone. I also noticed Harvey Dent and his girlfriend, Rachel Dawes, sitting a few seats down the row.

"And as we recognize the sacrifice of this man," I continued to scan the crowd as the mayor's speech went on. All I saw were cops. "...we must remember that vigilance is the price of safety." The mayor stepped back for the podium, signaling the end of the speech. The honor guard, which was placed directly in front of the stage, then prepared to salute Loeb. One round went off; nothing happened. The second round went off, I saw Gordon flinch a little before exhaling. The guard prepared for the third round but when the commander yelled 'aim' all the members of the guard pivoted on one foot and pointed their guns at the mayor, who still stood by the podium.

Time seemed to slow, even though I watching it on television. I heard the loud bang but it took me a moment to realize it wasn't the mayor who got shot. No, someone helped the mayor up and carried him off stage, away from the panic that was ensuing on the street. I saw Gordon laying on the stage, not moving, but it still didn't register in my mind. Jim Gordon, being the person that he was, had jumped in front the mayor and was no laying lifelessly on the stage. My mind went blank for a few seconds.

Jim Gordon was dead. Jim Gordon, the man who knew me all my life. Jim, my father's partner. Jim, the man who broke the news to my mother and I when my father was shot and killed by some man who want to get a speeding ticket. Jim, the man who held my hand as my father's casket was lowered into the ground. Lt. Jim Gordon, the man who kept me out of jail so many times. The one person who actually cared for me. And now he was dead.

I was sitting in the bedroom floor when the Joker found me. He was dressed in his regular clothes and his face was covered in new make-up. I then went back to staring at the wall and trying to prevent more tears from escaping. He looked down at me, probably waiting for me to say something. I didn't. A minute or two passed before he chuckled, "Any body in there?" He nudged my leg with his foot. In return I punched him in the leg like a child. The Joker then knelt down to my level. With a gloved hand, he poked me on the nose. I slapped his hand away. I went to slap him again but this time the Joker grabbed my wrist before I could do any damage.

"Let go of me." I said while trying to free my arm from the Joker's grasp. I wished he would leave me alone and let me dwell in my pity.

"What'd I ever do to you? You can't blame me for your haircut, can you?" The Joker's laugh broke through my wall of indifference. I lunged at him and we both fell back onto the floor. I punched and swung at any place I could reach before the Joker could come to his senses. When he did finally realize what was happening, the Joker managed to pin my arms and I to the ground. That was when the tears started. "What is wrong with you?" The Joker asked in his serious tone.

Between the sobs and tears, I managed to yell, "Get off of me!" I didn't actually expect him to listen to me but a second later the weight and pressure on my body was gone and I was free to roll over and bury my face in the carpet. I was still laying there when I heard the Joker get up and leave the room.


	14. Sickness

At some point, I clawed back into the lumpy bed. I refused to let my mind wonder, for I knew it would came back to focus on how pathetic my life was, or more importantly my pathetic attitude. Here I was in a house full of murderous, less than sane, criminals when I should be in a classroom, learning about things like World War 2 and Murphy's Law. I shouldn't be here. Sure, I was asked to be here but I shouldn't have put myself in the situation in which I needed to be here.

Why was I here? Because of my mother. To spite her. There were things that happened between us while my father was alive that put much tension on our relationship. And when dad died I just sorta said 'screw it'. It started with breaking curfew, but my mother didn't make a big deal of my stumbling home at four in the morning. I cut school and did things a fourteen year girl, or a girl of any age, should never do. When I dropped out of school at fifteen I realized that a girl can only drink so much and screw around so much in one day. I needed something else to do and I needed to make some money to survive. So I went from a overly promiscuous party-girl to professional thief. And my mother didn't even notice.

I've matured a lot in the past two years. I stopped drinking and stopped having relations with strange men. I tried to save my money the best I could. I looked towards a future where I didn't have to break into houses on a nightly bases. But, now, I was here. I'd wasted the past three years of life and possibly ruined my remaining ones. And I hurt no one but myself. My mom obviously didn't care enough to help me. She just went about her life with no thought of me. And the one person who probably cared was now dead.

I wasn't sure how long I laid in the bed before I made a promise to myself. I would do what Gordon and Dent told me to do. I would follow the Joker and observe his demonic acts. But I would not partake in the them. No matter what the Joker did to me. Sure, I would try to avoid getting killed but not at the cost of another person's life. Yes, I was going to walk away from this experience with my sanity and my life. When this whole thing was over, and the Joker was either dead or behind bars, I would move on and become a honest, productive citizen of society. Hopefully.

I must have fallen into a coma because when I woke up I was no longer in the bed or in the house for that matter. It was probably the motion that woke me up; the acceleration and then the sudden braking. The floor of the semi-truck trailer was cold and a bit unclean. My face was particularly placed in a rather large pill of dust and I was certain I had inhaled a few dust bunnies. I heard a constant murmur of voices as I picked myself up off the floor of the trailer. I noticed, with immediate discomfort and dread, that the Joker's goons, and there appeared to be many more of them now, were wearing, once again, masks

I brushed the dust off my clothes and scanned the group of men before me. It was dark and I couldn't see anyone's face. It was a very surreal sight. A group of masked men, standing in the dark with what appeared to be a rather large stack of weapons. I didn't see the Joker in the trailer but I could only see a good three feet in front of me before the details of the person dissolved into bleak outlines. I could see but I felt the truck make a wide, bumpy left turn. I lost my balance and I was sure a cry escaped my lips as my face once again found the floor. Some where in the distance I heard a small snicker of laughter.

I was content with laying on the floor as I felt the truck make another turn. I wasn't certain, but I was sure the driver didn't have a license. And, from what I could tell, he was going way over the speed limit. As the minutes passed I felt an odd sensation creep into stomach. I never had motion sickness before. I was actually a big fan of roller coasters. But this experience was completely different. The mixture of the darkness, the disorientation and motion all met in my stomach. Thankfully, my stomach was empty or else the contains would be on the already unsanitary floor.


	15. Chase

I had no sense of time as I brought my knees up to my stomach and closed my eyes. I heard people moving around my head but did not bother opening my eyes. Periodically, I heard a car outside speed by. I was in misery. The only thing that made my misery more bearable was the absence of a certain person. He was in the trailer, that I was sure of, but the Joker was had yet to obscure my vision. He could be one of the many men I was surrounded by. He could had been the man whose feet was rather uncomfortably close to my head. With the lack of light and my motion sickness, I couldn't be sure.

The drivers erratic driving only continued to get worst. The trailer swayed due to the reckless speed and the truck's wide turns. At one point, I was sure the driver had crashed into another car but the truck never stopped. Then, when the driving showed a sign of becoming controlled, the doors on both sides of the trailer were pulled open. Wind and sound filled the trailer and disrupted my vision but I was still able to decipher that we were now on Lower 5th Street in the middle of evening traffic. Only the traffic wasn't the normal traffic.

Even when I saw the armored truck labeled SWAT I was still confused. Had I missed something? Were we being chased or were we chasing them? Had the Joker been arrested since the last time I saw him? No. With the new light, I finally spotted the Joker, in his signature purple suit, kneeling by the open door wielding a shot gun. He fired two shots into the side of the SWAT vehicle. Who was important enough or dangerous enough to be transferred in an armored truck?

When the shotgun did no damage, the Joker switched weapons. Though, I'd never seen one before I was pretty sure the new weapon was a rocket launcher of some sort. The rocket hit a police car which was driving in front the armored truck. A masked man handed him another rocket which he loaded into the gun with ease. The semi truck hit something, probably another car, which caused everyone in the trailer, including me, to stumble. When he regained his balance, the Joker aimed the the rocket launcher at the armor truck. Only this time, the rocket didn't hit any city owned vehicle. Instead, the rocket hit what appeared to be the Batmobile.

The explosion blew debris in all directions and the semi truck came to a halt after hitting a concrete pillar. The Joker didn't skip a beat as he headed towards the cab of the semi truck then, as an after thought, he remembered me and pulled me out the trailer to follow him. Bits of concrete and metal from cars lined the road. The Joker pushed me inside the cab while pushing the driver, who was either unconscious or dead, out. "Excuse me. I wanna drive." The Joker mocked as he threw the body on the ground.

A couple hundred yards in front of us, the armored truck was starting to speed off again after being blown into the concrete median due the explosion. A few seconds later, the Joker aimed the semi in the same direction and sped after the SWAT vehicle. I quickly reached for the seat belt only to realize, with much horror, that there wasn't one. The armored truck turned quickly onto another street and the Joker, with an extremely wide turn, followed. For the first time in what felt like forever, I once again laid eyes on the night sky. Even though there wasn't very many things from the Joker to hit out of carelessness, I still kept my eyes close due to the speed and the intensity of the situation. Plus, I wasn't quite over my motion sickness.

I forced myself to ignore everything. I just concentrated on not throwing up. Even when something collided with the truck, I dared not to open my eyes. Despite the heavy hit, the truck kept moving. When I did open my eyes, it was only because the Joker slammed his foot on the brake causing my face to collide with dashboard. I heard, and felt, my nose crack. Then, the taste of blood filled my mouth. When I finally managed to look up, the truck was already in motion again. And hitting right for us, was what appeared to be Batman on a motorcycle. I immediately closed my eyes again.


	16. Crashing

I was greeted by police lights. Before I took stance of the situation a face appeared above me. A face I thought I would never see again. "Hey, kid." Jim Gordon said with an outstretch hand. I was too tired to say anything as I took his hand but, inside, a small flame of hope had rekindled itself. I remained silent as Gordon relayed the news to me that the Joker was in custody. As a paramedic removed numerous glass shards from my arm, Gordon explain that I would have to be taken in too, for my own protection. Apparently, word had got out that I supposedly ratted to the police about mob dealings and there was a price on my head.

For some reason, none of this bothered me. The Joker had been arrested. Did that mean it was over? My right arm was wrapped in white cloth before I felt the familiar metal of handcuffs around my wrists. Except, for once, my arms were in front of me and I got to sit up front with Gordon on the way to MCU. Together, Gordon and I ignored the small press circle which had formed outside the main entrance as we walked up the steps into the building.

MCU was abuzz with activity. Numerous uninjured goons were being processed and many more phones were ringing, probably the press wanting an update. Gordon ignored all the commotion as he lead me to the cell holding area. The small flame lost a bit of life when I saw who would be my cellmate. I tried to ask for a different cell but Gordon just gave me a sympathetic look before saying the rest were full.

The Joker looked sane for once. He sat there on the small metal bench with his back straight and ankles crossed. His expression was that of boredom. He didn't even acknowledge us as Gordon took off the handcuffs and placed me in the cell. I quietly took a seat a safe distance away from the Joker and the other occupants of the cell. "Oh,. I called your mother, Marie."

This simple statement caused a small reaction in the Joker. He lifted his head a bit, showing that he was listening. "And?" I asked with no emotion.

"She told me to keep you." Gordon said with a bit of shame in his voice.

"I wouldn't have expected any less from her." I said mostly to myself. A few minutes later, I laid down on my side and fell into an unease and unbalanced sleep. It was one of those sleeps were you're never really sure if you're awake or sleeping. I was on the cold concrete ground when I woke up. For a brief, hopeful second I had forgotten where I was. But then reality hit me. Reality's a real bitch.

I didn't waste the energy getting off the floor. But my desire of returning to a pain free sleep was snatched away when one of Gordon's cops loudly opened the cell and asked me to get up. I was escorted to Gordon's office on the other side of the building. Gordon was already inside, waiting with a a large coffee which I graciously accepted. "We need to talk about your future, Marie. And your safety." Gordon took a serious tone. "We need you to make an official statement but that can wait until morning." He stopped, waiting for any response from me. None ever came.

"Marie. I feel directly responsible for what has happened to you over the past few days. I never should have pushed you into that position. And I am so sorry but right now your current safety is very important. Chechen and his fellow mobsters believe that you have confessed to the police about the time you were employment by them. I would very much prefer to keep you at MCU but you look like you could use a good nights sleep. So, I'm putting you under protective custody and you're spending the night at a hotel which we will have under around the clock surveillance. Now, Marie, if you ever in your life listen to me it needs to be now. I need you to not runaway. I need you to stay put. I need you to promise me that you won't get into any more trouble...Marie?"

At some point, tears started to roll quietly down my face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything." My damaged facade was on the verge of breaking completely. The urging in Gordon's voice caused me to see the gravity of situation I had solely gotten myself into. Gordon seemed a bit upset by my uncharacteristic display of vulnerable emotion. Or maybe he was just extremely stressed.

"Marie, please. Just promise me." His said, returning to his usual, fatherly tone.

"I promise." I said strongly. Even as I said it, I knew it would be just another promise I broke.


	17. Escape

I rode to a small hotel, which was about a mile from MCU, in the back of a police cruiser. Two detectives, I didn't know their names, occupied the front seats. Together, they escorted me to my room on the fourth floor and explained that one would remain in the lobby and the other at the end of the hall, in view of my room. They would be my protection.

My room was small, which was to be expected for a hotel. The bed was rather large though. The covers were your usual hotel pastel color. The furniture included a small wardrobe, with a television on top, a side table and a lamp. Finally, a small chair was placed in the corner by the window. Next to the chair was a small walk-in closet. The designers had spent a bit more money in the bathroom. The shower walls and floor were composed of green toned slate and a simple clear glass door separated it from the rest of the room.

Laying on the bed was a small, folded pile of clothes. These clothes were new; a simple pair of jeans, a dark blue shirt and a jacket. As soon as the room door shut, and locked, behind me I went straight to the shower. Some how my body had found energy to heal the gunshot wound so it just looked like a rather large bruise. The middle, where the actual hole was, was a dark red color, due to the dried blood and torn muscle. The flesh around the wound was a mixture of green, black and blue. There were other random cuts and bruises covering the rest of my body.

Along with dried blood and pieces of glass, a rather large amount of black dye washed down the drain, from my hair. Even more went down with the shampoo. Apparently, the dyed wasn't permanent. From the shower, I went to the mirror. Not all the black dye had released itself, so my hair was a mixture of black and brown dye and then my natural red roots. After a minute of searching, I found a pair of scissors and went straight to my hair. I first cut away all the dyed parts, leaving only half an inch of red hair.

I then did my best to clean the cut up, making it neater. I was satisfied with the end product, but the shortness and color made me look sickly and pale. I changed into the new clothes, having no intention of sleeping. I left the hair in the sink and dirty clothes on the floor and turned all the lights in the room out before peering out the small eye hole in the door.

Out in the lit hallway was not just the police detective but also two men, each of which I recognized as Chechen's goons. The three were talking causally. My heart dropped. My escape from the hotel was going to be harder than I first planned. Without a second thought, I ran back to the bathroom. I quickly turned the shower on, as hot as it would go, and firmly closed the door on my way out.

By the time I got to my position by the door, the handle was moving, turning. The door opened an inch or two before the chain lock stopped it. I couldn't see but something cut the small chain and the door swung the rest of the way open; further restricting my view. Two figures walked in and went straight around the corner, towards the bathroom. I jumped up from my position behind the door and sprinted into the hallway. The police detective was no longer present.

Unsure of the time I had, I pulled the closest fire alarm, which sprayed my hand with blue ink. Alarms wailed as I ran up the stairs, not down. On the fifth floor, I exited the stairwell and threw myself into the nearest unlocked room, which happened to be a storage closet. A few seconds later, I heard the sound of tired but panicked feet moving down the hall. I imagined weary tourists jogging down the stairs, looking for any signs of a fire.

When silence again appeared in the hallway and the stairwell was empty, I continued up three more floors and onto the roof. I could hear sirens and firetrucks, who were already present down on the street below. Instead of peering down at the street, I went to the alley side of the roof, where a rusty fire escape was present. I took my time climbing down, not trusting the stability of the metal. The second my feet hit the ground, I was running.

Running from safety but also from danger.

Running to what end, I did not know.


	18. Everything Burns

I started off just trying to get as far away from the hotel as possible. By now they would have already discovered my absence. I tried to stay off the main streets, sticking to alleys and side roads. After about twenty minutes of running, I finally stopped, ready to take the next step in my escape.

I needed to get out of town, probably out of the state. I figured the bus would be my best bet. I wasn't sure how much a ticket cost, but I needed money. That would mean a trip to my mother's house, which was something I really didn't want to do. Reluctantly, I took off in that direction.

I didn't run. I still hadn't had a decent meal and my body was tried from the lack of sleep. It was well past dawn when I reached the house. I watched from my place in the alley as my mother went off on her morning shopping run. When she was safely around the corner, I left my place of hiding.

I didn't get very far. When I was halfway across the street, a large SUV came barreling around the corner. At first, I thought it was just one of Gotham's crazy drivers but that was before it stopped in my path. The passenger side door flew open, almost hitting me in the face. Two hands emerged from the darkness and pulled my roughly inside. I didn't start fighting until it was too late.

Between my kicking limbs, I recognized the two men from the hotel. Another man was in the driver's seat. I struggled for a few more seconds before I felt an odd prod in my side. Even though, I had never been in this situation, I knew the object the man was now holding against my rib cage was a gun. I immediately stopped moving. I didn't say a word, and neither did the three men, as I sat next to the gun-wielding man with my eyes downcast.

I wasn't sure how much time elapsed before the vehicle stopped and I was roughly pulled outside. We were parked outside a large, rust-color warehouse overlooking the bay. My fear immediately grew. The docks were never a good place to be with armed men. With a small amount of pushing on their part and some swearing on mine, together we entered the warehouse through a small, uneven doorway.

I was not prepared for what I found inside. Stacked into an orderly pattern, a giant mountain of cash rose from the floor and consumed the majority of the space between it and the ceiling. The pyramid of cash was the first thing that caught my attention; the second was the man sitting atop the pyramid. I had never seen Lau before in my life; I knew the man sitting up there, with fear written on his face, was once an accountant for the mob.

As my eyes moved down, I recognized more people. The first was my least favorite person. I wasn't sure how he managed to escape MCU, but the Joker stood a few feet in front of us, admiring the pill of money. He didn't notice my entrance until my captors presented me to their boss.

As usual, Chechen was smoking. I knew I was in trouble when he took the energy to remove the large imported cigar from his mouth. I should have been prepared for the words that came flowing from Chechen's mouth. Gordon had warned me about the mob's current state of mind, but that conversation seemed to have occurred years ago.

"You dirty, good-for-nothing, bitch!" All this was said through a heavy accent while Chechen advanced towards me.

Having a strong will to live and the desire not to be maimed, I tried to move away from Chechen and his fury just as fast as he was moving towards me. Unfortunately, he had the advantage of being able to see where he was going. I managed to trip over some unknown object and tumble to the ground.

It wasn't Chechen who pulled me roughly up by my arms. It was two of my kidnappers. I thinking and vision was still a bit destorated when Chechen's fist collided with my face. Blood started to fill my mouth. Suddenly, my fear turned into anger. I was tired of being attacked and abused. I started to struggle with my captors again; trying to free an arm so I seek my revenge on Chechen's face. But as usual, I wasn't strong enough.

"You made a big mistake, Bradley." Chechen said, returning the cigar to his mouth. "I wasn't just paying you to steal; I was paying you to keep your mouth shut. What made you think you could do this without facing the consequences. I own you, Bradley."

"I wasn't aware that I was for sell." I said sharply before spitting in the mixture of blood and salvia into Chechen's face. My uncharacteristic actions awarded me another punch in the face.

I closed my eyes, waiting on another hit. But nothing came. Cautiously, I opened my eyes. Chechen's eyes were no longer on me but on the Joker. The Joker's face showed clear hatred, which helped explain why the gun in his hand was pointed at Chechen. "Let her go." His voice was low but hostile.A few seconds later, my arms were released. Slowly, I stumbled behind the Joker. I wasn't sure if it was safer but at least I wasn't on the other end of the gun.

A smile then returned to the Joker's face. "I'm a man of simple tastes. I like gunpowder, dynamite, gasoline." A couple of the Joker's goons started to pour what smelled like gas onto the mountain of money, with Lau still sitting on top. Chechen step forward but any more movement was stopped by the Joker's still aimed gun. "And you know what they have in common? They're cheap." The Joker then removed Chechen's cigar from his mouth and lightly tossed it on the pile of cash, which erupted in flames.

With his eyes on the burning fortune, Chechen said, "You said you were a man of your word."

"I am. I'm only burning my half." The Joker quietly handed me the gun, which I held haphazardly. "All you care about it money. This city deserves a better class of criminal, and I'm going to give it to them. This is my town now. Tell your men they work for me."

Chechen seemed to build up some nerve. "They won't work for a freak."

Then a knife appeared in the Joker's hand. "How about we cut you up and feed you to your pooches. Then we'll see how loyal a hungry dog really is." I turned away as Chechen was dragged away to his fate.

With the knife gone, the Joker started to search his pockets. "It's not about the money. It's about sending a message." After a few seconds of searching he pulled out a cell phone. "Everything burns."


	19. Explode

I wasn't sure if it was due to the growing amount of smoke present or malnutrition but my stomach would not stop twisting. And all the twisting caused what little was present substance in my stomach to move upwards. Only a small amount of vomit made its way onto the cement but my stomach still wasn't done twirling. I kneeled on the ground and dry heaved for a good five minutes before my stomach calmed down and settled itself.

I felt worse than ever. The constant fear and lack of food was finally taking effect. I didn't have the energy to stand up; I simply crawled away from the yellow mucus and laid on my back. I was burning up but no sweat was present. It felt like I was dying.

My body was shutting down. My vision was becoming morphed and distorted. I was barely aware of the multiple hands that picked me up and carried me outside, away from the burning fortune. But I was aware of the plastic bottle that was pushed into my hand. My body mustered up enough energy to lift the bottle to my mouth. A flood of water raced down, burning my throat. Before I could consume the entire bottle, the plastic container was wrestled out of my grip.

At first I was confused at the removal of the gift, but then the product of my greed showed itself. A small amount of water came back up and spilled itself onto the concrete ground. A hand returned the bottle to mine and an unfamiliar voice said, "Slowly." My line of vision and thought process was beginning to return when I was helped into a car. From the heavy smell of cigar smoke, I'd figured it was Chechen's.

As the car pulled away from the now smoking warehouse, my body was returning to normal. I could make out the Joker's face, as he sat next to me in the car. My head hurt and my throat was sore but the ringing and fuzziness was going away. By the time the car stopped, I was able to think clearly. But my balance had yet to reappear.

And the Joker had lost his sympathy as he recklessly dragged me out of the car, across an empty parking lot and into an unknown building. It didn't take me long to realize the building was a hospital and it took me even less time to realize the hospital was Gotham General, the city's largest hospital. But something was wrong. There was no one around. Not a single nurse, doctor or patient.

The Joker's goons dispersed down numerous hallways; probably off to destroy something while I was forced to follow the Joker. But my following didn't last very long. I wasn't paying attention to where the Joker was leading me; I was more preoccupied with looking for someone to help me. The next thing I knew, I was being pushing into a storage closet. The door was closed in my face before I could even react. "What the hell? Let me out." I began to pounding on the door with my fist. But there was nothing but silence on the side of the door.

I spent the next twenty minutes trying to pull the door open but something on the other side prevented me from doing so. There was nothing of any use in the closet either, just a couple mops, brooms and other cleaning supplies. I continued to bang on the door at random intervals of time, hoping for some to help me but after being in the closet for over half an hour I was growing tried.

I was on the verge of sleep when the door was roughly pushed open only to be stopped by my face. Some how there was no physical damage done, no blood or bruises. The only byproduct of the door's impact on my face was pain. When I pulled out of the closet, I was met with a uniquely dressed Joker. First, my mind wonder wear he found such clothes. Second was why in the hell he was wearing a candy striper costume. But all the thoughts of the Joker in drag were wiped from my mind when I saw what was in the Joker's hand.

It clearly was homemade; the thing was kept together with tape. Despite the unsophisticated detail, I was certain the remote detonator would work, which was why I was intent on keeping pace with the Joker. I could have screamed when the Joker pressed the large, threatening red button before we had exited the hospital. Part of the hallway behind us exploded, causing me to quicken my pace so I walking a good ten feet in front of the Joker.

When I reached the door, I had a quick thought of running for it. It was just the Joker and I, and he was distracted with blowing stuff up. But my brief dance with escape was cut short when the Joker took hold over my arm and steered to towards a school bus; all while simultaneously pressing the red button numerous times. I was so surprised that I was allowed to climb on the bus under my own esteem that I missed the initial explosion. But I was able to watch the hospital crumble though the window as the bus pulled away.


	20. Pain

Somewhere along the way I feel asleep. But it was not the peace I was looking for. The bumpiness of the road and my awkward position prevented any actual rest. When I awoke, I felt worse than ever. I had an ache which traveled from my neck and down my back. My throat was scratchy and my head was fuzzy. It didn't help that I didn't recognize the space around me when I woke up.

The first thing I saw when I sat up was the river flowing into the west. But my view was from quite a distance up. I could see the tops of several buildings. When I brought my sight closer in, I realized I was sitting in the Pruitt Building, which was half finished. When it was done, the building was supposed to be one of the large office buildings in the city. Plastic coverings were hung where walls were to be built. Many random pieces of hardware were thrown carelessly on the ground. There was no barrier between the interior of the building and the outside world, which I found to be rather dangerous. As usual, I wasn't alone in the building.

"You know, Bradley, I had high hopes for you." The Joker said, stepping out of the shadows and into the setting sunlight. A familiar fear set in my stomach when the Joker produced a knife from his pocket. He passed it casually between his hands.

And, as usual, I kept my response short. "Sorry to disappoint." I didn't move out of my sitting position, but I made a feeble attempt to move back away from the Joker, who had a homicidal look on his face.

He kept moving closer and I abandoned my attempts to scamper away. When he finally covered the distance, the Joker casually bent down to my level. First, I made note of how close the silver blade was to my exposed skin. That was before my attention was drawn to the expression on the Joker's face, which was just inches from mine. Many emotions were written beneath the crackled make-up, but the two that caught my attention were clear humor and pure murderous rage. "I guess I'll just have to try harder."

That was when I made my escape attempt, but it was cut short when the Joker's hand once again clasped around my throat. This whole mess was getting really redundant. I expected to be pulled upward but instead I was thrown back onto the cold, concrete floor. I tried to kick the Joker off me but he used his own legs to pin mine to the ground. At first, I thought he was just going to strangle me to death but he quickly removed his hand from my throat. "What the hell?" was my only response to the situation. That was before the knife was dragged across the skin on the inside of my right forearm.

A loud scream escaped my lips. The Joker didn't stop. As I continued to scream, the Joker continued to dig the knife into my skin. Even though I couldn't see the damaged being done, I could tell that the cuts weren't being made in a single, straight line or in a random pattern. The way the Joker stopped and contemplated his next cut implied that he had a plan. As he continued down my arm, my screams became more feral and louder. I somehow managed to remain conscious though the whole ordeal. But the moment the Joker causallt climbed off of me, I passed out.

The sun had set when I regained consciousness. I was beginning to wonder if my constant blacks-outs would eventually lead to brain damage. They certainly couldn't be good for me. I found myself slouched against one of the interior, metal joists. My arms were behind me, wrap around the beam. When I tried to move, I noticed the handcuffs. I spent a few minutes trying to pull my hand though the metal ring, but my cuffs were too tight and my hand too big.

There was a slight throbbing on my right arm and I could feel blood still tracing its way down my arm. I was still alive and free of any life-threatening injuries so I felt content to adjust my position so I could get comfortable enough to get a decent nap in before the Joker did decide to kill me. If I was going to die, which was practically guaranteed at this point, I wanted to die well-rested. I also wanted to die as an old lady not as a teenager, but we can't get everything we want.

Unfortunately, my nap was interrupted by what sounded like an explosion a few floors down. That was when I noticed a pair of dogs growling a few feet away. Standing in the middle of the mutts was the Joker. I was unsure of how long he had been there or how he had gone unnoticed by me. It was probably all the black-outs affecting my vision. Probably. However, Batman was not overlooked by me.


	21. Freedom

Batman did not go unnoticed by the Joker either. The dogs began barking as I awkwardly tried to stand up. The Joker came to my aide by pulling me upward by what was left of my hair. My emerging insult was silenced when I felt the blade against my throat.

"Let her go." Batman said in his unnaturally deep voice. Even as he said it, the Joker pushed harder on the knife. Only the pressure on my throat didn't stop. I felt the blade pierce the skin just below my jawbone. I tried to move away from the impending danger but the Joker's grip on my hair prevented me moving my hair. A small squeak escaped my lips.

My shaking hand grasped the metal pole behind as my mind raced to find an escape route. I again began trying to force my hands through the handcuffs. I was so panicked I drew blood. My thumb was the only thing blocking me from freedom. No matter which way I bent my thumb, I couldn't slip the cuff over it. Then a rather crazy, painful idea popped in my head. Before I could dwell on the prospect to much and change my mind, I took hold of my left thumb and quickly pulled it back at an odd angle.

I felt the bone crack and another, much louder, whine fled my lips. The Joker, who was too busy in conversation with the Batman, either did not hear it or took it to be a product of the knife to my throat. I recklessly pulled my left hand though the handcuff and in doings so I caused more cuts to me made on the back of my hand. From the amount of blood I felt on my hand, I assumed I pulled some skin off.

My hands were free but there was a still a knife pressed against my throat so any relieved emotions were short lived. I still couldn't escape because the Joker still had a hold of my hair. "She has nothing to do with this. Let her go." The Batman said as I focused my mind back to the conversation at hand. He was my only hope. Surely, he wouldn't let the Joker kill me. Then again, things had not been in Batman's favor lately. Or mine.

As the seconds passed, my mind, fueled by fear and adrenaline, began to do a run though of all my options. Soon a plan began to form. My best bet was to distract the Joker longer for Batman to attack and for me to get away. Unfortunately, my timing wasn't the best. A millisecond before I attacked the Joker, with an elbow to the ribcage, he let the dogs loose. So, as the Batman fought off the dogs, I fought with the Joker.

My attack caused him to remove the knife from my throat but with the distraction of Batman it allowed the Joker to make another attempt. He knocked my head against the metal pole, which again left me momentarily oblivious to everything else as I gripped my new head wound. What came next took me by surprise.

The Joker took hold my waist to prevent me from crumbling to the ground. With one hand, he kept me from falling over and with the other the Joker brandished the knife. "Good-bye, Bradley. It's been a blast." The Joker sneered before pushing the knife into my stomach. My body froze. For added effect, the Joker gave the knife a quick twist before removing it. I was forgotten quickly as he turned his attention back to the Batman.

I slumped to the floor and landed slowly on my back. I pressed my hands over the wound in my lower abdomen. I wasn't a doctor and I practically failed high school biology, but I was pretty sure the wound was around the kidney area. My shirt was already soaked in blood and I applied as much pressure as possible to stop or at least slow the bleeding.

Surprisingly, as I laid there, staring up the boring ceiling, I feel no overwhelming discomfort. My head and body ached but the knife appeared not to produce an exceedingly amount of pain, just blood. I began to think that the wound itself wasn't life threatening. But I was sure the bleeding was. I had to stop the bleeding. I need to get to a hospital. Surely, the police were here. Where were they? Were they on the streets below or were they already in the building freeing the other hostages? Either way, I knew I had to get up.

That was a task itself. My pain free existence was destroyed when I moved. Bending over was an agonizing experience and I wasn't sure how long it took me to stand up. When I was finally able to look around the space, neither the Joker nor the Batman were to be found. Walking caused to the wound to bleed more, so it was slow going. My goal was the stairs but that was forgotten when I saw the Batman on one of the open-aired construction platforms. I changed my direction. When I finally reached him, I used another metal beam for support. Only then did I see the Joker hanging in the air, upside.

"You could have just let him fall." I muttered under my breath. The Joker, who was busy laughing, didn't hear but the Batman, who kneeled on the ground, out of breath, did.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, noticing my discomfort.

Even in the all the urgency and pain, I still managed to muster up some sarcasm. "Never been better." As I said it, I heard the sound of numerous footsteps on the stairs but they seemed farther away. Apparently, I lost much more blood than I thought because I lost consciousness again.

* * *

The bed was uncomfortable as hell so I knew I wasn't in heaven. I doubted they provide beds in Hell so I was pretty sure I wasn't dead. I smelled antibacterial soap and I heard the distance mutter of voices and the beep of a machine. I couldn't feel anything; no pain or aches, but I attributed that to the plastic IV in my hand. I felt the little plastic monitor clip, which was in control of the constant beeping, on my middle finger. The beeping was getting really irritating.

I opened my eyes and saw nothing but a white ceiling. When I lowered my glaze I saw two people but they were at the other end of the room, by the door. With my good hand, not the one that was covered in bandages, I tried to knock the heart rate monitor off my finger. This drew the attention of the two people in the room. One was a nurse, an older woman dressed in light blue scrubs, who scolded me for messing with the equipment. I ignored her and continued to move, examining the multiple tubes that were connected to me. Frustrated, the nurse left muttering something about more anesthesia.

The other was Jim Gordon, who looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "How are you doing, kid?" He asked with relief written on his face.

I gave up trying to follow the tubes to their origin. "I don't know, you tell me." I was alive and in no pain, so in my view I was doing great. "How long have I been out?" Forgetting the tubes, I began to examine the bandages that practically covered my entire body. But there was one spot, which was no longer bandaged, that caught my attention. It was my right arm where the Joker had dug his knife into my skin. A single word was carved into my arm. The letters were raised scars and I knew they would never fade away. The handy work was untidy and the letters were unevenly spaced across the inside of my forearm. I read the word a thousand times to myself. Smile.

"Eight days. You lost a lot of blood. You had to have multiple blood transfusions. Another inch to the left and the Joker would have killed you. Not to mention your broken thumb." A weird silence filled the room before Gordon decided to continue. "He's in Arkham Asylum. Along with the majority of his goons."

"What about me?" I said with no emotion. I had only been awake for a few minutes but I instantly felt tired.

"You've been cleared of all charges and your record is clean. What you do from here is your choice." Gordon said resting his hands in his jacket pocket.

"What can I do?" I asked almost to myself. I had no high school education, my mother still ignored me, and I was pretty sure I had lost my job at the café for not showing up. The cards were certainly not in my favor.

"I believe I can help with that." A new voice said as a man walked into the room. I recognized Bruce Wayne from the newspapers. His dark hair was gracefully combed and his black suit was neatly pressed.

Gordon was just as confused as I was. "Mr. Wayne, what are you doing here?" At this point, I was wishing the old lady would come back with more sedatives. There was too much going on. I wanted to go back to sleep.

"I've come to offer Ms. Bradley a job." Wayne said with his charming smile.

"Uh, Mr. Wayne, you do realize that I stole your car a couple of year ago?" My voice was a bit scratchy. Why would he want to give me a job when he knew of my past criminal offences?

"I know. I never really liked that car anyways. Now-" The rest of Wayne's sentence was cut off when the nurse returned.

"She's only allowed one visitor at a time. Where did you come from? Get out." The old lady said in a harsh tone. Feeling threatened, Bruce gave me his card and told me to call when I got out to the hospital before he was swept out the door by the nurse. She then kicked Gordon out before injecting another dose of sedative into my IV. A few seconds later, I was out.

* * *

I awoke sometime in the night. The room was dark but rays of light leaked from the hallway though blinds and into my room. The clock on the wall said it about two in the morning. Unable to return to sleep, I picked up the newspaper that was placed on the side table. On the front page was a picture of Gordon, who had been promoted to Commissioner, and the mayor. My eyes went to the date at the top of the paper. April 6. If this was yesterday's paper, than today was my eighteenth birthday.

I tossed the paper back onto the table and was prepared to go back to sleep when I noticed what else was placed on the table. A single red rose rested in detailed purple vase. A small paper scroll was tied around the vase. Unsure, I removed the scroll, unrolled it and read the note in the limited light.

_Dear Marie,_

_Parting is such sweet sorrow, dearest. Still, you can't say we didn't show you a good time. Enjoy yourself out there in the world. Just don't forget, if it ever gets too tough there's always a place for you here, with me. And happy birthday. _

_Get well soon._

- _J_

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I watched the vase shattered against the wall.

**THE END**

* * *

**A/N **I would like to thank everyone who read and reviewed. I hope you liked the story. I'm thinking of writing a sequel but I'm not sure. What do you think?

- Madison Dyann


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